


Drifting Souls

by brooklynboos



Category: Captain America (Movies), Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Canon-Typical Violence, Captain America: The First Avenger, Crossover, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Jaeger Academy AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-19
Updated: 2015-10-19
Packaged: 2018-04-27 04:09:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5033173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brooklynboos/pseuds/brooklynboos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They hail from entirely different walks of life, yet the Jaeger Academy decides they're potential Drift partners. James and Steve tend to disagree.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drifting Souls

**Author's Note:**

> _These are the times that try men's souls:_  
>  _The summer soldier and the sunshine patriot will, in this crisis, shrink from the service of his country;_  
>  _but he that stands by it now, deserves the love and thanks of man and woman._  
>  \- from The American Crisis by Thomas Paine
> 
> This one has been a long time coming. I would like to thank [beckwatneyjohanssen](http://www.beckwatneyjohanssen.tumblr.com) and [haelie-theoncoming-storm](http://www.haelie-theoncoming-storm.tumblr.com) for betaing, your feedback was invaluable! 
> 
> It all started when Rumy was liveblogging Pacific Rim and I got involved. Here is the official point of origin for this entire idea: ([x](http://www.beckwatneyjohanssen.tumblr.com/post/124749679006/ok-yes-but-jaegerstucky-does-sound-freaking)).
> 
> I care a crazy amount about this fic, and I intend to see it all the way through (especially as I already have various plot bunnies for a part 2, oops). So if you wanna come over to [my tumblr](http://www.spoopyboos.tumblr.com) and pick my brain, you're very welcome to!
> 
> P.S. If you want an endorsed soundtrack for this chapter, [look no further](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W0BAXNEoXrY). Full fic playlist is in the works.

_“And that must be Ares Sentinel dropping into the ocean over there. It’s hard to tell, but I’d say she’s putting on a fair burst of speed, wouldn’t you agree Karen?”_

_“Well, I would say that all we really know from official channels at this point is that Los Angeles is about to face a Category III Kaiju surface in the bay, and that the Shatterdome deployed Ares Sentinel.”_

Bucky is glued to the TV screen in his private quarters at the Shatterdome. He tunes out everything that is not the TV. The same cannot be said for Tony, who maintains a running commentary.

“I know she’s in top form, I oversaw the running of checks this morning, just some scratches on the paint job she’s as good as she’s gonna get, there’s nothing to worry about, it’s only a Cat. III…” he continues to mumble. Bucky isn’t sure for whose benefit it’s supposed to be. He doesn’t care much either way, because the male presenter was right: Ares Sentinel is booking it towards the Miracle Mile, city lights blazing at her back.

Those aren’t the only lights she has to go by. Choppers fill the air: SHIELD’s Jumphawks are almost outnumbered by the representatives of cable television, and each chopper has a light beam trained on the Jaeger. Sentinel slows down, scanning the ocean in front of her for any kind of irregular movement, but the waves and the lights make everything look threatening. And then a new Kaiju breaks the surface.

Category III indeed. Its back breaches first, followed by a snout filled with fangs. Ares Sentinel takes on a defensive stance, fists raised in front of the Con-Pod. The choppers divide their light beams between the two players, illuminating the spikes along the Kaiju’s spine and the huge tail that balances its stance. The monster straightens out and bangs its fists on its chest, a roar as loud as thunder fills the air. Even louder is the sound of the Jaeger’s fog horns. Encased in a pillar of light, each giant surveys their opponent.

 _“Well I’ll be damned,”_ the male presenter mutters under his breath. _“If you just tuned in: Los Angeles now faces the attack of the sixteenth Kaiju, a Category III codenamed Ironhide. LA Shatterdome responded by deploying Ares Sentinel, one of the last Mark 1 Jaegers, piloted by the Barnes team.”_

Sentinel moves first, pumping her legs through the stormy water towards the Kaiju, slipping into a sprint. The Kaiju leans forward and races toward the Jaeger on all fours.

Bucky does not take his eyes off the screen. The helicopters can’t provide the best coverage: they have to steer clear of the fight, circle around the battle, with rain obscuring everything. A flash of lightning – Sentinel with fists raised together over the Kaiju’s head. Another flash – the arms smash onto the Kaiju’s head. Flash – a rocket-powered first slams into Ironhide’s face. Lights play over the two forms; it looks like Sentinel locks her hands around Ironhide’s neck. Flash – fangs close around the mech’s right arm. Beams of light try to catch up with the shape of Ares Sentinel as Ironhide swings her into the bay, barrelling after her. She barely has time to stand up again before the Kaiju buries its nose into the Jaeger’s chest. Sentinel’s left arm surges up, clawing at the snout. Ironhide swings around. The momentum in the tail crashes into Sentinel’s side and knocks her off her feet. Water pours into the chest, sparks erupt in the Con-Pod. Ares Sentinel does not get up and Ironhide turns its back, putting the city in its sights.

Bucky doesn’t even blink; if he blinks, he might miss something. Something like a hatch that slides open right beneath the Con-Pod. Tony had grown quiet while the Kaiju was battering Ares Sentinel, but now he whispers “Oh no,” and that scares Bucky more than anything. Tony knows this Jaeger. So does Bucky, and they both know what will happen next. A harpoon shoots from the hatch and lodges itself in the Kaiju’s back. The connecting line starts to reel back on impact. The Kaiju resists aggressively, but Sentinel anchors itself to the ocean bed with another harpoon, and both lines grow taught. As the Jaeger sinks below the water, the various lights move to the Kaiju. It claws and snaps and struggles, connecting only with air. It disappears under the surf, everything grows still apart from the storm and the helicopters swirling in the sky. Then a ball of water erupts and thunder booms, only there was no accompanying flash of lightning.

“Pilots turned into rock stars, danger turned into propaganda. We got really good at it. Winning. Now, now it’s all changed.” Tony doesn’t seem to be aware he’s talking out loud, but it wouldn’t have mattered anyway. Bucky only hears thunder roaring in his head. 

 

* * *

 

It’s the same sound ringing in Steve’s ears on the other side of the country. The messages of the day are all delivered, his work is done for the week. He could go back to his assigned barracks beneath the Wall, decide which ration cards to exchange for food and which to trade at the field hospital for some antibiotics. Storm season is coming after all, and with it comes humidity in the air and cold in the barracks. Cold everywhere, really. Rations will have to wait though: he’d heard word in one of the offices a minute ago. The word was ‘Kaiju’, so now he’s struggling through the sleeting rain, as fast as he can while not falling down, heart hammering and chest constricting, not caring if he’ll catch a cold (he knows he will). Because there’s been another attack.

As he reaches the mess hall, the smell hits him in the nose: sweaty bodies exhausted with another hard day’s work, all packed together in a small space. Quickly slipping inside where it’s slightly less cold, Steve immediately turns his attention to where the press of people is thickest. Sometimes there’s an advantage to being small and bony, and Steve uses his sharp elbows to get closer to the front. He jabs some people in the side, not paying too much attention to who he comes into contact with. He only pauses to note a woman he hadn’t seen around before (unusual for a place as remote as Sitka). She’s wearing a hat tilted so that her face is obscured, but he does glimpse lips coloured a deep red. Steve quickly dismisses her as irrelevant to his current goal.

The TV is on full volume, but it’s still almost drowned out by the murmur of the crowd and the rain hitting the roof. Still, Ares Sentinel explodes loudly enough to create a hush. Another Kaiju dead, and another pair of Rangers down. It’s becoming too familiar a pattern, the only variation being that the amount of attacks has seemed to increase lately and there’s nothing anyone can do about it. Steve hates it. Not just people dying – though obviously that as well – but also being stuck at the Wall, where most everyone has lost faith in the Jaegers anyway.

Here, all hopes are pinned on the so-called ‘Wall of Life’ and the Jaegers are brushed off as antiquated, outdated. Useless. He can identify with that at least. It’s how he feels as well: knowing people are laying down their lives and that he should be out there. This is a war, one like humanity has never fought before, and Steve is standing by on the side lines, just watching it all happen. What good were all the commercials about ‘everybody doing their bit’ when doing your bit only means delivering messages from one station to another? How is he defeating any Kaiju with that? Then again, how is the Wall defeating any Kaiju at all? He knows he’s alone in feeling this way, which only makes the overpowering sense of hopelessness feel all the more unbearable.

He’s been caught up in his own mind for a bit and so missed the hubbub and conversations starting up around him. Usually he makes a point of leaving as soon as possible after the ending of the main broadcast. He knows what sort of thoughts find the loudest voices and most willing ears around here. And sure enough- “What do Jaegers and my marriage have in common?” Heads turn towards the man who just shouted, almost overriding the TV coverage of the aftermath of the battle. “They both seemed like a good idea at the time, now they ain’t working, and they’re both still costing a fortune!” And that’s it. Weeks and weeks of the men deriding the Jaeger program, of being told that he’s not good for anything, of being the charity case, of getting the shitty rations, all that comes rushing back in this one moment. Everyone’s got a breaking point, and Steve just reached his. There’s really only one thing he can do at this point. Fight back.

“Hey, you wanna show some respect?” he shouts across the crowd. Heads turn. The man – oh shit it’s the foreman; now he’s gone and stuck his foot in it, but hell, Steve never backed down from a fight and he sure as hell isn’t gonna start today – turns an ugly sneer on him. “Those are men risking their lives out there, who do you think you are to insult them, huh?” Go big or go home, right?

“I’m the fucking guy who pays your wages, you little shit. So don’t you go forgetting who’s the one in charge around here.” Well, that is about as unveiled a threat as you could get around here, and that was saying something. Steve’s lips curl up into a silent snarl, looking as terrifying as he can with his five foot four and weight of 110 pounds dripping wet. “You want more? I got more. How many Jaegers does it take to change a lightbulb? None! ‘Cause these days everybody knows they can’t change a thing!” The words barely register before Steve is pummelling his way through the crowd again, trying to get up close to the foreman. This is such a bad idea. Then again, he’s sure he’s had worse ideas. He must have, right?

“That’s funny,” he all but spits in the man’s face, “coming from the man who runs the operation that is the epitome of stagnation. ‘Wall of Life’? More like ‘Wall of Flight’!” Okay so that wasn’t an amazing comeback, but he’s under pressure here. Plus, the foreman is one of the easiest people to rile up. Which should maybe have been a warning sign.

“You callin’ me a coward, you little shit?”

“Well, I ain’t calling you brave, that’s for damn sure!” It felt amazing, releasing all the pent up anger and frustration, both with himself and the world around him, by unloading all his fears and failures. Sticking it to the man as it were. The man wasn’t as pleased.

“Alright, that’s it, you’re fired!”

“Great, saves me the trouble of quitting myself!” If there’s something Steve’s good at, it’s seeing a bad idea all the way through. It’s a skill. He huffs, turns on his heel, and marches back out the way he came, back painfully straight and fuming in his head.

He doesn’t notice the woman with the hat observing him intently. Maybe this was a good thing; Sitka had lost whatever little appeal had drawn Steve to it a long while ago. There was nothing holding him there. Nothing but the world telling him it’s where he belongs. Well he would show them. A fresh start. Feels like hope. 

 

* * *

 

The next day finds Steve up early, the sun not even risen yet. He’s had it. What feels like a lifetime spent at the Wall (it’s four years) now finally at an end means he’s antsy and energetic and he’s not going to let his body get the best of him. Not today. So he packs his rucksack with all the rations he has left, a pitiful collection: canned beans, strips of hard bacon fit to break your teeth, and a thermos filled with hot water (the tea herbs ran out days ago). He adds his two sticks of pencil, his sharpening knife, and all the sketchbooks he’s filled up over the years. There are vistas from the top of the Wall and drawings of Jaegers copied from propaganda posters, but earlier works as well: the Exclusion Zone in San Francisco with the dead Kaiju in painstaking detail, a few portraits of his mother, and still before that the streets of Brooklyn. He ties his threadbare blanket tightly to the top of the bag. He makes his way to the tent with the red cross as stealthily as he can. Leaving the rucksack outside, he sneaks under the fabric and then back out again, with one bottle of antibiotics and his ration cards left in their place. He ain’t planning on coming back here if he can help it.

He keeps the Wall to his right and the light just peeping over the horizon to his left. It’s all the direction he needs as he follows the tire tracks laid out in front of him. If the weather holds he can make it to his destination a little after noon, when the light is just right.

It’s an uneventful trip. He stops a few times to hastily sketch the tail of a fox disappearing into the undergrowth on the side of the road or to nibble on a single bacon strip in lieu of breakfast. The sun is past its highest peak when the horizon changes from green firs decked in white to introduce a new element. The factory.

Steve’s visited here a few times before, he knows his way around by now. While the gate has a secure lock on it, there is a spot a short walk from the road where the chain link fence has come loose from the ground. As soon as he’s on the other side of the fence he picks up the pace to one of the loading bays, where the doors can be pushed open more easily than should be possible, even for an abandoned plant. He’ll always feel a sense of awe when he steps into the huge space beyond. While anything and everything useful has been stripped from this place long before now, it still exudes an atmosphere of purpose. Steve has to crick his neck back to spot the top of the production line, where one of the first ever Jaegers saw the light. A model not unlike the one which met its end yesterday. He finds his way to the stairs, the kind with a vertigo-inducing metal grating for steps.

Winding his way up, he comes to his spot. He unceremoniously dumps the rucksack next to him and swings his legs over the edge, hooking his arms over the lower of the bars meant to keep people from plummeting to their deaths. It is possibly his favourite spot. Not just in the factory, but in Alaska, maybe in the US. Yes, there is a wildness to the landscape you can view from the top of the Wall, a country that would not be tamed stretching as far as the eye can see. But Steve will always be more inspired by mankind coming together and building something as impossible as a Jaeger. That inspiration translates into his drawings.

His most recent sketchbooks are filled with details of the mech-suits, drawn from posters, commercials, and parts beyond saving left behind at the factory: a joint between arm and torso, the expanse of the chest plating, the scar-like scratches. What Steve does though, it’s more than just clinically noting those separate parts and copying them down as accurately as possible. He always manages to capture the soul of a Jaeger. After all, the Drift is not just two pilots sharing memories, it’s co-pilots mindmelding with a giant machine. The deeper the bond, the better they fight. Steve believes the stories, tales where a Jaeger would twitch in its bay long after it had powered down from combat. While they are not exactly alive, there is something there, something that wants to be alive, maybe.

So he gets his sketchbook out and starts doodling, not always paying attention to what’s happening under his pencil. Not seeing the first outlines for a new Jaeger appear and take form in the empty space of the production area. When he finally snaps out of the daze, he doesn’t know how long he’s been sitting there, legs dangling down. 

 

* * *

 

Bucky is studiously ignoring Tony. He carefully observes his nails as the rant from below keeps going, the speaker pacing around the lounge and gesticulating wildly to punctuate his words every now and then. “You think you know what you’re doing, hmm? You think you know what it’s like out there, just because you’ve rubbed shoulders with some of the biggest damn celebrities around? Well let me tell you something, Bucky-”

“It’s James.” That pulls Tony to a stop and he looks up.

“I… What?”

“My name. It’s James.”

“What the hell are you talking about.”

“You think I’m not taking this seriously? Okay. I’ll be serious. First step: serious name. Second step: some serious training.”

“You know that’s not how this works.”

“And why the hell not huh? It worked for my parents! If it was good enough for them, it sure as shit is good enough for me! You think I’m just gonna sit by on the sidelines? Wave to the press as they pass me over for someone who’s actually out there saving the damn world? You think that’s what they would have wanted for me? ‘Cause I sure don’t!”

Tony starts pacing again, rubbing his eyes with a hand. “For fuck’s sake Bucky-”

“James,” he grits out.

“ _Fine_. James. I swear to God if you’re just doing this because otherwise _the press is going to pass you by_ -”

“Jesus Christ, Tony, I thought you were smarter than that.”

“I may be, but I don’t see you acting like anything other than a little smartass!”

“Tony, just, please just listen to me here okay? I gotta do this! I can’t not! What are my other options? Go back to class? Drop out and get a job at the Shatterdome? I’m sure they’d snap me up as soon as I tell them you taught me the tricks of the trade.”

“That’s not the point here.”

“I know that. Of course I know that. But just think for a second. You know as well as I do that this is what I was born for. I just need a chance. That’s all I need. A shot at a life where I’m actually making a change, a life my parents would be proud of. You know I can do it Tony, I know you do. I just need… I just…”

“Hey hey hey, easy there,” Tony shushes as he bounds up the stairs and sits down next to James, nudging his shoulder. “No need for the waterworks now. I get it, alright. I get it, I do. I just, I need to be sure you’re doing this for the right reasons. I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself if my first official act as your guardian was to wash my hands of you and send you on your way.” At this, James looks up. This is a side of Tony he doesn’t usually see.

“Are you saying…?”

Tony rubs his neck slowly. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess I am. I’ll sign the damn papers.” And before James gets one whoop in, Tony bulldozers right on: “On one condition, you hear me? If you get accepted – and that’s a big if, what with your private exploits measured out in the tabloids for everyone to read-” James pulls a face, but Tony bulldozes right on, “-you come and visit me at least once every two weeks.”

“Whaaaaaaaat? That’s a 6-hour flight Tony. One way!”

Tony grins widely, but there’s no humour behind it. “No it isn’t. You get accepted, I’m taking up the position as Head of Jaeger Tech at the Hong Kong Shatterdome. I’m sure they’ll snap me right up.”

“Ah shit.” That earns a barking laugh from Tony. 

 

* * *

 

Tucked away in one of the upper corners of the waiting area, a television set is tuned in to some talkshow program at low volume. Steve isn’t really paying attention, but his eyes fall on it every now and then as he tries to distract himself from his thoughts. The show seems to be hosted by a small woman with an incredibly powerful presence. As he twiddles his thumbs, he scans the room again. There’s not a lot of people. The popularity of the Jaeger program is dwindling, especially in those areas where you can spot the Anti-Kaiju Wall whenever you stick your head out a window. Most of the men and women here are locals trying to find a way out. He doesn’t recognise any of them.

He knows it’s unlikely anything will come of this, but anything is better than doing nothing. He’s gotta try, don’t he? It won’t be his first try either. He’d joined the line for the recruitment office on the day he turned 18, back in July.

That was a bust. He’d been heckled, but he could put up with that. He’d been putting up with that and more for all his life. What he couldn’t deal with was the look of pity in the eyes of the medical staff. In the face of the doctor who stamped him 4F. He didn’t need their pity. He didn’t want it. He just needed someone to realize he was more than his body. He could _fight_ , he’d been fighting all his life (and losing most of those fights as well, but they didn’t need to know that).

So when Steven Grant’s name is called, he just follows the nurse to one of the curtained off consulting offices. A doctor comes in to check his forms and his eyes widen a little. Steve stifles a sigh, he knows he has a list of ailments as long as his arm and that this doctor won’t even look at him before he earns himself another stamp to add to the collection.

Except that’s not what happens. “Wait here,” and with that the doctor disappears again, leaving Steve alone to brood.

 _IT IS ILLEGAL TO FALSIFY YOUR ENLISTMENT FORMS_ , the words bore into him from the other side of the room. Was it really that obvious? He’s not gonna wait around to find out, time to skedaddle. Only then the curtains swish a third time in under a minute, and a Military Police officer steps through. He all but ignores Steve and falls into parade rest.

Shit. Shit shit shit. Steve sits back and swallows. Well, this was it, he’s had a good run, prison is probably better than life at the Wall anyway. The officer steps back to hold open the curtains, which is when another doctor steps in. Oh Jesus.

“I can explain-,” but all the doctor does is hold up her hand to shush him, studying his documentation intently. Of course, they needed a second opinion that those were fake. It’s her next words that truly stun Steve.

“So, you want to get down there, kill some Kaiju, be a hero?” Far be it for Steve to be stunned into _silence_ though.

“Excuse me?”

“My name is Peggy Carter, I represent SHIELD.”

“Steve Grant.”

“And where are you from Mr. _Grant_?” He could actually answer this question truthfully, because his previous attempt at recruitment had happened quite some miles away.

“The Wall. Sitka.”

“Right. Chasing shifts to make a living. And chasing recruitment maybe, hm?” Putting all the cards on the table. Okay, he could follow along.

“Ain’t no crime in wanting to fight for your country.” He glances quickly at the sign again. Well.

“No no no, you misunderstand. It is not the multiple exams I’m interested in. It’s the tries.” So this was an unusual character to say the least. “And you didn’t answer my question. Why are you so set on joining?”

Careful now. “Is this a test?”

“Of course.” Well then, there’s only one right way to answer that question. It’s never about killing the enemy, about being a hero. It’s about the people.

“I want to help. I want to make people feel safe again. No matter who I’m fighting.” Ms. Carter links eyes with Steve over the rim of his glasses. Gauging his sincerity.

“Well, there are already so many big men fighting this war. Maybe what we need now is a little guy.” A pause. “I can offer you a chance. Only a chance.”

“l’ll take it.” As if there ever was any question in his mind.

“Good. So where is the little guy from? Really?”

“Brooklyn.”

And that was that. Steve fills out some more forms – truthfully this time – and he’s told to report to the Anchorage Shatterdome by Thursday, so he can board the chartered flight to Hong Kong Shatterdome. He walks out of the curtained-off space in a daze, back to the waiting room. The TV is still tuned into the same talkshow, and he just catches a few words from the host: _“So tell us then Bucky, who did you have to sleep with to get into pilot training as a minor?”_ The laughter from the audience followed Steve as he walked through the door.

 

* * *

 

When the laughter dies down, James jumps right in: “Like I said, it’s not-”

“Right, yes, no, sorry. You’re right. I’m just so used… I keep slipping up. Okay, James, we all know that cadets of the Jaeger Academy are required to be 18 years old on the date of enrolment. You won’t be. How’d you make it happen?”

James shoots a smirk at the camera before he turns back to say: “Hey, don’t look at me, I just had to walk in the office and the brass knew right away they had a golden ticket in me. Can’t help it that I’m just so damn charismatic.”

Darcy grins right back: “Huh. So it’s not something to do with one of the many rumours flying around about ‘generous donations,’ ‘sponsorship,’ or even a transfer coming in for the Jaeger Tech division hmm?”

James glares at her before quickly slotting a forced smile back in place. “Darcy. I thought you knew better than to believe the gossip rags.”

“Oh, don’t worry about me, I do! I just want to make sure you know what you’re doing.”  
This right here is why he gave Darcy the exclusive. They already have a rapport, they’re close, but it’s more than all that. Her interview style was the most suitable. Flowing from flirtation to humour to serious, Darcy knows how to guide her guest to the point they’re there to make. All that, and his parents liked her.

“Sure I do. That’s why I’m doing this interview to begin with. Everybody and their mother knows this is what I’ve always wanted.” Turning to the audience: “You all knew, right? Seen all the interviews? I’m the best there is! Why turn me away when I have absolutely nothing better to do? When I could be an asset to humanity? I mean, they would have been idiots not to snap me up.” Right, got the cocky down, now move on to the realness, look down at clasped hands and back up at Dars.

“But, ya know, it’s not just that. I know the risks involved here. And I want to let y’all know that I’m not going in blind here. Tony, he’s my guardian, he’s gonna chaperone me-” (cue grimace of disgust and chuckles from the audience, all according to plan) “- and I’ll be subjected to psychological tests every two weeks to make sure I’m still doin’ good and all. This is only happening because there is honestly no better place for me to be. I can _help_ people. I _want_ to help people.” A remorseful look at the audience to drive the next message home: “You’ve all heard the stories about me. About my life. I’m here to tell you that maybe I’m not a changed person, but I have a new perspective on things. And I’m ready.”

“You think so, huh?” The words are not meant to sting, Darcy smirks at him when she says it, so James doesn’t let it get to him. While he may have chosen Darcy specifically for the interview, hers was the only show that actually had not approached him yet inviting him onto the set. She knows him. She had known his parents off-set. She thought he wasn’t ready. And honestly, maybe he wasn’t. But there was only one way to find out, and he really didn’t have anything better to do, that much was true. He believes in the cause, and the cause needs him.

“Sure do.” A conspiratorial hand to the side of his mouth, a fake-whisper that carries through the studio because he’s wearing a _mic_ for chris’ sakes: “You wanna know the trick?” To the audience at large: “A serious name!” Gales of laughter. God, but he hates this whole game. “I mean, it’s symbolic, right? New me, new name. New determination. I may not have been serious about my life before, but I am taking it deadly serious now. Which means that I’ll be the same as everyone else. I’ll receive the same treatment and testing as everyone else. The program will determine who’s going to be the next generation of Jaeger pilots. That’s why I’m signing up as James Barnes: I’m aiming to leave my previous life behind. A clean slate. That’s all I ask.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm hiding on tumblr, [come find me](http://spoopyboos.tumblr.com).
> 
> Here's a [rebloggable post of the fic](http://spoopyboos.tumblr.com/post/131512770050/guys-guys-i-wrote-a-thing-this-is-huge-the), for your convenience.


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